


A Deviant Spawn Christmas

by mznaughty01



Series: Deviant Spawn [1]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Femininity, Foreplay, Hand Jobs, M/M, Schmoop, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mznaughty01/pseuds/mznaughty01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Eve encounter with the lead singer of Deviant Spawn.</p><p>This verse is another reboot of a story (actually 2 stories this time) that I wrote a couple years back using original characters of mine that has now been done up SPN style. This verse is complete and will be posted over the next couple of weeks as I get finished with edits. Also, this verse is seriously AU and features both Twink!Jensen and (even more so than Jensen) Twink!Dean.</p><p>Warning: All the characters in this story are OOC. Basically, this story is original fic and I'm just borrowing well known names/characters and their pretty faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Man, dude, this is so beast! I still can't believe that it's happening to us! _Us_ , Dean, as in me and you!"

Dean rolled his eyes as Jensen exalted yet again the gift Dean's cousin had given to them for Christmas this year. The exaltation had been going on almost nonstop for the past twenty-four hours, ever since Dean had told his best friend about the gift, and Dean was way beyond the point of being tired of hearing about its coolness.

"This is Deviant Spawn we're talking about," Jensen gushed, black outlined greenish-hazel eyes glowing, head of blue tipped, dark brown spiked hair bobbing with each word. "Deviant! Spawn! And we're about to meet them! I can't believe it! I just can't fucking wrap my mind around it!"

Dean couldn't wrap his mind around the fact he hadn't yet wrapped each and every one of the exclamation points ending each and every one of Jensen's sentences around Jensen's pretty leather collared throat.

After listening to his friend babble for several minutes more, Dean decided he would give Jensen the proof he seemed to so desperately need that he wasn't dreaming. Just as he determined to administer that small dose of reality through a pinch placed to the mesh covered, soft, sensitive skin of the inner part of Jensen's upper arm, Jensen raced over to the safety of the double doors. He opened one just wide enough to stick his porcupine head through, then quickly pulled it back inside, let the door slam shut, and emitted an eardrum rupturing screech.

"They're here! They're here! They're coming down the hall! Right now! I kid you not!" Jensen did a twirling dance that was the physical personification of his excitement.

"Jensen," Dean called calmly.

"I can't believe we're getting ready to meet Sam—"

"Jensen."

"Christian—"

"Jensen."

"And Jared."

" _Jensen_!"

" _What_?"

"Sit." Dean pointed to the red-gold plush cushion of the couch, right next to where he sat. The beaded skull bracelets lining his wrist clanked against each other with his sudden movement and light from the harsh fluorescents high overhead glittered off his silver ring. "Your head is going to explode if you don't calm down."

"I'll risk detonation for the opportunity to meet Deviant Spawn." Jensen obediently drifted over and dropped down on the seat beside Dean. "It would _sooo_ be worth it."

"Star struck much?" Dean couldn't help but tease.

If this was how his friend acted just over the _thought_ of meeting the band well known not only for their lyrical take on the alternative genre of rock, but also for the alternative lifestyles they led in the public eye, he could only imagine how much worse it would be once the members actually walked through the door. He'd probably end up having to pry a humping Jensen off their legs like he was some horny, unneutered mutt.

And it was at that very moment Dean realized just how lucky he was that his cousin had arranged for him to meet some of the musicians she'd met in the course of her job over the past few years. Sure, none were big as Deviant Spawn, and probably never would be, but they had still been good practice for Dean to perfect the calm, collected demeanor he was currently pulling off with very little effort.

"Why, yes, I am star struck, thank you for asking. And I wish you'd stop faking like you're not, too," Jensen said, bottom lip extended in a contrived pout. "Because I know you and I know you're excited. But you got this whole unperturbed vibe going on right now and it sucks. Sucks donkey balls. Giant donkey balls. Great, big, giant, hairy, sweaty—"

"Quit it already with your disgustingly descriptive spiel of the genitalia of your brethren, jackass. And while you're at it, reel the lip in. I get the point. And, FYI, I _am_ excited," Dean responded, blowing a wayward lock of hair out of his eyes. It seemed to have taken up permanent residence there lately. He really should have gone to get a trim before the concert, but he'd run out of time. His search through his closet for the perfect outfit had taken forever before he’d finally settled on a cream, v-neck sweater paired with form fitting, tan pants he knew clung to his ass just so. Then it had taken another eternity to enhance his looks through the technique he'd long ago refined of applying a complementing light coat of make-up. "I'm just better at managing my enthusiasm than you. I have had previous experience in these types of situations, after all."

"Meeting local talent doesn't automatically qualify you as some type of authority," Jensen snorted dryly. "And is that the standard you really want to use? In that case, don't forget to sign me up as a guru because _I've_ even managed to meet some of our city's local talent."

"And yet _you're_ still acting like a fangirl right now."

"I am not. This is excitement you see. _I'm excited_. Just like you should be..." Jensen paused for dramatic flair before adding with a sly smile "...pretty boy."

"Do _not_ call me that!" Dean snapped, slapping his own leg for effect. He knew he was femme, anyone who met him who possessed even the minutest amount of common sense knew he was femme, but he hated it when people called him pretty boy. Just because he was effeminate did not also mean he was some scared ass, pansy wimp as the disrespectful label implied.

In truth, most people who met him soon discovered that all five foot-eight inches, one hundred and fifty-five pounds of Dean Smith to be quite feisty.

"Then don't call me—" The rest of Jensen's retort died on black painted lips as the door swung open.

Images of gothic, overly friendly cocker spaniels filling his mind, Dean clamped a hand on his friend's wrist to prevent Jensen from bolting from his seat again. And possibly embarrassing the both of them in the process. He didn't even want to think about having to explain to his cousin how he'd let Jensen sexually assault the rock group. Especially not after she'd somehow managed to finagle this extremely rare backstage meeting with Deviant Spawn post their very first stateside concert, held on Christmas Eve in Orlando, after a successful year long stint in Europe. Dean knew his cousin had met the band some years before, and was considered by them a close acquaintance of sorts, but this meeting she'd set up for Dean and Jensen was unheard of.

Christian Kane, the drummer, was the first member through the door. Of medium height, he possessed a solid, thick build. Dressed in a t-shirt and baggy shorts, he stuck to the band's signature dress code of all black with the sole exception being the white towel covering his head of long hair to soak up sweat. His ensemble was completed by a cute, petite, giggling redhead draped under his left arm and a fawning, buxom, bald chick under his right. Thousands of magazine articles had pegged the identity of the little black dress garbed females as one of three sets of on-again-off-again girlfriends Christian rotated between in his open, three-way relationships.

In a tangle of body parts which appeared to all be one huge extension of each other, the threesome plopped directly across from Dean and Jensen onto the room's only other traditional couch. Dean grinned in return to the warm, friendly smile Christian somehow managed to flash at them between all the licking, kissing and groping he was involved in.

Jensen bounced up and down.

With a sigh, Dean tightened his grasp.

The next member of Deviant Spawn to enter the room was the lead guitarist, Jared Padalecki. He sauntered through the door's opening, a toothpick stuck in one corner of his mouth and a cell phone plastered to his ear. His chin length hair was its natural dark brown at the roots, tinged blue at the tips, and parted at the top of his head down the middle to hang loose on both sides of his face. The black leather vest he wore, a mirror image of the one worn and ordered off the band's internet site by Jensen, was unzipped to reveal the light mat of brown hair which covered his defined pectorals. The hair tapered to an eye catching thin line which disappeared into the waistband of his tight black jeans.

Dean's pulse quickened slightly as Jared shot him an interested glance and a head nod. Jared's gaze then slid over to Jensen where he gave the same noncommittal head bob before his attention wandered elsewhere. Just as quickly as his gaze had roamed, Jared's hazel eyes, glittering with curiosity, snapped back to Jensen. A slight smile curved his lips as he winked, flipped his phone shut and pushed the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. He strolled to the far side of the huge dressing room where, while still watching Jensen, he sprawled along the length of the chaise situated there.

Jensen bounced with even more excitement. Then leaned over to hiss in Dean's ear, " _Let go of me_."

"No.”

"But I really, _really_ want to go talk to Jared. Come on, De. Let go, man. _Pretty please_. Swear I'll make it worth your while later."

"No way. There is absolutely no way possible I would dare let you loose on him all hyped up as you are right now. You know my cousin hates that I have balls and she doesn't. Do you _want_ her to have a valid reason to cut off mine?"

Then Dean did exactly what he'd said he wouldn't by releasing his grip. But if his cousin confronted him later, he would refuse to accept the blame for his action as it had been unintentional. And out of his control. She would just have to understand that Dean's concentration on Jensen had been broken. By the entrance of the last member of Deviant Spawn.

The band's lead singer. The rhythm guitarist. The frontman.

Sam.

Although Dean had been maintaining his outward composure a hell of a lot better than Jensen, he was still every bit as in awe. Probably more so. He'd been a fan of Deviant Spawn for the past six years; had, in fact, been the one to introduce Jensen to their music when the two of them were thirteen.

And, for as long as he could remember, he'd always had a serious crush on Sam.

Dimly, Dean was aware of Jensen's desertion followed by the sound of his friend chatting it up with Jared, but he didn't dwell on the abandonment. Dean was more interested in Sam's long, damp, brown hair which was pulled up into a high ponytail at the crown of his head. The ends brushed the tops of tanned shoulders bared during the show when Sam had slowly and methodically unbuttoned, then shed, his long sleeve, black shirt while crooning into the microphone Deviant Spawn's latest hit, _Him_.

As Dean and Jensen had been sitting in the front row, again courtesy of Dean's best cousin, radio personality Genevieve "Gen" Cortese, Dean had had an awesome view of the strip show when it had commenced. He'd almost gone into palpitations when Sam had pulled up a stool to right in front of him and sat on it while staring hard at Dean and singing the lyrics Dean had imagined were written about him. The description of the secret, much gossiped about lover Sam sang about fit Dean to a tee. His equanimity had only been restored when the security guard had shown up to collect him and Jensen for their exclusive backstage meet and greet.

Unable to stop himself, Dean's eyes drifted down Sam's long torso. Like Jared, the singer was on the tall, thin side and in perfect form with his sleek musculature. Unlike Jared, not one hair covered his chest. Sam's skin was smooth...and it just begged Dean for a caress. And, oh, how Dean wanted to tender that touch. He knew without a doubt Sam's honey toned skin would be soft and so very, very silky.

There was one other thing both Sam and Jared shared, Dean noticed not for the first time. Their wicked, sexy sensualness. 

Dean's thoughts were cut short by a sultry, melodic tenor murmuring, "And hello to you, lovely."

Horror-struck, Dean stared at his outstretched fingers...his outstretched fingers which were paused mid-stroke of flawless, bronzed abs...flawless, bronzed abs which belonged to a Sam who the door had barely shut behind before he'd been accosted by Dean! Dean didn't remember the moment he'd left his seat, much less the moment his mind had decided it was a good idea to act on the very bad idea to touch the multi-million dollar lead singer of Deviant Spawn.

Genevieve was going to kill him! Then resurrect him only to kill him again! And the death-brought-back-to-life cycle would only end once she finally decided to disown him. After killing him one last time.

And that was the best case scenario Dean dreamed up. Worst case included Sam having security escort him off the premises stat and lodging an assault charge against him, spearheaded by the Who's Who of malicious lawyers whose services were only available to the Who's Who of Hollywood. And Deviant Spawn was definitely a Who.

With a squeak, Dean jerked his hand away. Only to find his fingers snared in Sam's tight grasp which kept the errant digits exactly where they wanted to be, even if it was a place they had no business treading.

"Oh, no, you don't," that beautiful voice spoke again. "There'll be no molesting then running."

Fuck, shit, fuck! Sam _was_ angry.

Dean was _so_ dead.

Impending death aside, Dean still wanted to look up into Sam's face. He wanted to peer into the eyes he knew, from the many nights he'd spent jacking off to the life size poster of Sam hanging on his bedroom wall, were the most intriguing multihued shade humanly possible. But he didn't dare.

Well, didn't dare wasn't exactly correct.

Dean _couldn't_ look up into Sam's beautiful eyes. Because he was currently frozen stiff by a paralyzing blend of lust for the man he'd wanted to fuck him since before he’d truly known what the word fuck meant mingled with fear over the rage and indignation he suspected those eyes were blazing down at him.

"You’re going to finish what you started," Sam purred.

"You w-w-want me to d-do what?" Dean stuttered, stunned. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He must be mistaken...there was no way in hell Sam, Dean's only celebrity crush ever, actually wanted Dean to continue feeling him up.

It just wasn't possible.

Things like this did not happen to Dean.

As Dean continued with his internal debate, his attention was focused on his hand which was covered by the long, elegant fingers of Sam's hand and laying on Sam's stunning, golden chest. Sure Sam was playing a sick, twisted mind game, Dean tried to snatch his hand away again.

Only to discover Sam was still holding tight. And, Jesus, was the man strong.

"How 'bout I show you exactly what I want you to do." Guiding Dean's touch, Sam proceeded to do exactly that.

He used the tips of Dean's fingers to outline one of the small squares of muscle, then, when the outline was complete, dragged Dean's fingers down the center of the package. He repeated the action with each one of his highly defined abs, and when they'd reached the last of his six pack, Sam still didn't relinquish his hold. Instead, he yanked Dean closer.

Sam's free arm snaked around Dean's waist, anchoring Dean in place as he laid Dean's palm flat on his taut stomach. Dean shivered at the feel of flesh still slightly moist from the high energy antics Sam had performed while out on stage. But if Sam noticed Dean's trembling, he didn't let it deter him. He continued to push Dean's hand lower, making sure the tips of Dean's fingers traced the strip of flesh which curved inwards along the prominent line of his pelvic bone. The journey didn't stop until Dean's hand rested just above the waistband of Sam's low slung, skin tight leather pants.

"Shall I show you what else I want?" Sam murmured huskily.

Not waiting for an answer, he pushed Dean's hand south, using his fingers to curl Dean's around the left laying bulge located just beneath Sam's belt buckle. A sizeable, hardening bulge.

"Now, you can clearly see what it is that I want from you," Sam said. "So, the question is, do we continue? Or do we stop?"

"Stop, Sam. For the love of God, stop," a baritone filled with amusement called out. "Can't you see you got that kid all shook up? Leave him alone."

Focused on Sam's lengthening erection, Dean didn't try to look around to identify which of the other band members it was that had tried to come to his rescue. He was so far gone it didn't even occur to him that Jensen's rare silence was a pretty good indication that Dean was probably making a spectacle of himself with Sam.

"Is that true, lovely? I got you all shook up?" Sam questioned.

Dean barely managed a shake of his head in the negative. This was a dream come true for him. A dream he didn't want to end. Ever.

"The kid says he's cool," Sam responded to his bandmate as he used Dean's fingers to knead his hardness.

"Then, for the love of God, lover boy, stop because you got _me_ all shook up."

"Never let it be said that Sam doesn't give his audience exactly what his audience wants." Sam released his hold. "Even when those wants clearly don't coincide with his own."

Light headed, Dean stumbled backwards a step. On realizing he was about to pass out because he'd been holding his breath during the entire encounter, he drew in ragged gulps of air to refill his oxygen starved lungs.

Then turned on his heel and fled the room.

He leaned against a wall in the hallway, listening to the boisterous laughter which trailed his exit. Even the two girls were laughing. The sound only stopped when the door snicked shut. But, moments later, when the door opened again to admit Jensen into the hallway, Dean discovered the laughter was actually still going very strong.

The same deep, rich voice which had demanded Sam leave Dean alone questioned, "Think they'll come to the after party? I'm really digging the talkative goth, but I think you scared the quiet, girly one shitless, Sam."

Sam responded, "They'll be there."

Seconds after Sam issued his sure statement, the laughter in the room morphed into uproarious snort filled snickers. Before the thick, steel door closed again, preventing Dean from hearing any more of the conversation within, Dean heard Jared gasp a choked, "Fuck, you always have been a slick ass bastard."

Jensen thrust his hand at Dean, distracting Dean from trying to figure out the meaning behind Sam’s exchange with Jared. He stared at it, confused as to why his friend suddenly wanted to shake hands with him. "What?"

"Just wanted to greet a fellow member of Club Fangirls, s'all," Jensen said, deadpan.

When so blatantly confronted with his star struck behavior, Dean did the only thing to be expected: Using the hand that had so recently been wrapped around the outline of Sam's cock, he pumped Jensen's hand up and down emphatically.

And said, "I'm not only a member, I'm also the founder and the president."

Dean allowed an idiotic smile to overtake his face. It was an exact replica of the toothy one spreading across Jensen's.

As they shuffled towards the exit, Jensen exclaimed, "Did you hear Jared? He actually said he digs me! _He_ digs _me_! Not nearly as much as I dig him, of course, but still! Man, that is so beast! And, holy fuck, what the hell was that with you and Sam? Jesus, Dean, I think he likes you. Like, really, _really_ likes you!"

Silently, Dean agreed with Jensen's assessments. And he was never washing his hand again. Not for the rest of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Contrary to Sam's prediction, Dean hadn't planned on attending the after party. For a few key reasons.

One, before they'd embarked on their evening together, he and Jensen had reached a mutual agreement that they wouldn't go. As clubs didn't really play a part in either of their comic book geared interests, they'd intended to grab some strawberry milkshakes from Mickey D’s after their meeting with Deviant Spawn and crash at Jensen's place for the rest of the evening. While playing Batman: Arkham Asylum on the Xbox, the plan had been to moon over the band and find some sexual relief with one another if necessary.

Two, Dean had no desire to stay out all night partying. He didn't want to be too tired to get up in a timely manner to return home the next morning. Christmas was a big deal for his family, always held at his parents' house, and extended family had been arriving from all parts of the country for days in advance. Dean knew his mother would be up at the crack of dawn preparing a hearty breakfast for the temporarily enlarged Smith brood and breakfast was served on a first come basis. Basically, if he wasn't there to serve himself the minute she pulled her famous rum buns from the oven, then it was likely he wouldn’t be getting a serving.

Three, well, Dean's third reason was a recent addition to the list. He honestly did not think he could survive another encounter with the intense lead vocalist of Deviant Spawn. At least not without being reduced to a blubbering, drooling fool in the process. Better to retain a shred of his dignity and not even chance it, right? Right.

So, given all of his valid reasons for not setting one foot inside of Virtuous, Dean was beyond surprised to find himself leaning on the railing of the second level of the tri-floor club. He watched the swarm of gyrating, gesticulating bodies move in sync with the blaring music down below as he waited for Jensen to return from the VIP section up on the third floor. With Dean's keys.

Keys Sam had apparently managed to swipe from Dean with Dean being none the wiser.

Dean wondered what was keeping his friend so long. Jensen had been gone close to thirty minutes this trip, his second up to VIP. The first had ended with Sam immediately sending a smudged lipsticked, glassy eyed, strangely mute Jensen back to Dean, lacking keys, but armed with an invitation for Dean to come join Sam that Dean had refused.

It was apparent to Dean that he’d somehow been misjudged as a groupie. Much as Dean adored Sam, he refused to do anything to perpetuate that erroneous opinion. And going to VIP would definitely be a form of perpetuation. Because if Sam whipped out his cock and demanded Dean suck it in front of all present, Dean would mindlessly drop to his knees like the blubbering, drooling fool he was afraid of becoming and do it without question. Therefore, Dean opted to stay far away from the VIP section.

And far, far away from Sam. And that tempting cock of his Dean had already had the pleasure of touching once.

The rational part of his mind told him he should feel some sort of annoyance over what was happening. And if it wasn't Sam instrumenting this whole bizarre scenario, he probably would. As it was, the insane part of his mind, the part currently in control, found it all a bit flattering. Surreal, but flattering nonetheless.

After stealing Dean's keys, Sam had arranged transportation, via one of the band's many rented limousines, for Dean and Jensen to the club on the other side of the city. He'd also arranged their entrance, free of charge. As well as admission to the exclusive VIP section.

Since the hulking security detail employed by Deviant Spawn refused to take orders from anyone _other_ than Deviant Spawn, Dean and Jensen's path to the car had been disrupted by a guard around the same size as the character Colossus from Marvel Comics who'd ignored all of Dean's loudly vocalized objections. Same security guard had then whisked them to the waiting limo while ignoring Dean's stomped feet.

The only reason the guard had given for his actions, and only given because Dean had stuck his head out the limo's sunroof and started screaming like a banshee, was that he was acting on Sam's orders and that it was in Dean's best interest to just go along with them...because it was the only way his keys would be returned to him. For the first time becoming aware of their absence, Dean had demanded to have his keys returned right then and there. The guard had reiterated that they would be returned, _at the club_ , forcing Dean to admit that he was going out partying because, for whatever reason, it was what Sam wanted.

And through it all, Jensen had made no effort to hide the fact that he found it hilarious that Dean's unflappability had been so thoroughly jacked, slapped then flapped upside down.

"You just make sure you get my keys, jackass," Dean had grumbled when they'd first entered the club. He'd then stalked off, being sure to make a wide berth around the mountainous guard. The man had been eyeing him with too unhealthy an interest that Dean recognized from their earlier encounter did not bode well for Dean's free will.

When the guard made a move to grab his arm in an effort to no doubt direct Dean to the stairs leading up, Dean had dodged his grip then hurried to the stairs leading down. He'd mixed with the crush on the dance floor until the DJ had announced to the exuberant, delighted club goers that Deviant Spawn was in the residence. Figuring he was safe, overfed guard's attention properly focused on his famous charges as it should be, he'd drifted back up to the less crowded second level where he'd been hanging out unnoticed ever since.

Dean didn't bother to divert his attention from the floor below when Jensen finally reappeared at his side. His best friend leaned against the railing next to Dean and Dean opened his hand. When his keys were deposited on his palm without further ado, Dean couldn't help but feel a slight disappointment that Sam had given them up so easily.

But who was he fooling? Was he actually expecting Sam to woo him? Sam, the man who could have whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted. As Dean hadn't seen any photos of the famous bisexual singer with a male companion as feminine as Dean for the past three to four years, he could only assume Sam had found someone in VIP more to his liking. Someone a tad more masculine. Or maybe he'd gone and hooked up with one of those waifish thin, boyish females he seemed to like so much. Whoever the person was, they were probably more than willing to dance to Sam's sexual tunes without first requiring any sort of special catering.

"Shit," Dean groused. He tossed his head to remove the ever errant lock of hair. "How the hell are we supposed to get back to the car?"

"That's simple, lovely. I'll have the driver take you on the way to drop me off at the hotel."

On hearing that voice again, that voice that made every Deviant Spawn song an instant hit, Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

Sam. Not Jensen. It was Sam returning the keys to him.

"Or were you wanting to take me up on that offer to join me up in VIP?" Sam asked, voice raised to be heard over the noise of the club.

"No, I, um, I think I'm ready to leave, yes, definitely ready to go. But, first, I have to find, er, Jensen...my friend...you know, blue-brown spiked hair...babbles a lot..." Dean didn't know if what he'd just said made any sense, so he stopped talking.

"Don't worry 'bout your friend. He and JT seem to have hit it off with each other. And I'm pretty sure that JT is planning to see that Jensen gets _exactly_ where he needs to be," Sam said with a warm chuckle.

"That, uh, sounds good," Dean responded, grasping onto the railing to hold him up when his knees gave out. Then, as it became clear that Sam's words could also be construed as a sexual innuendo, his eyes snapped open as he breathed a shocked, " _Oh_."

"And now it's time to get you—"

"No! I mean, you don't have to leave your party because of me. Just arrange for the limo to drop me off at my car. I'll be fine."

"No can do. I brought you here so it's only fair that I personally see you back." Sam strolled away.

By the time Dean got his brain to communicate a message to his legs to start walking, Sam had made his way over to the rear exit. Colossus shadowed his every step, preventing the handful of frenzied hopefuls present on the second level from approaching with his glower. Dean scrambled to catch up with his departing ride and the ominous sentinel.

When they finally reached the cordoned off back alley, filled with limousines, Dean was stuffed to the brim of the fabulous view of Sam from the rear. Sam had freed his hair from the ponytail he’d been wearing earlier and the dark brown strands, dry now, hung loose to the middle of his back, bone straight and with not a single curl or wave to be found in the thick mass. He'd also put back on his black silk shirt and the waist length piece of fabric clung to his shoulders, highlighting their broadness. And the leather pants he wore conformed to his lean form, showcasing his tight ass to perfection.

If life were to end right then for Dean, he would die the most contented girl scout ever.

Dean slid inside the interior of the stretch limo indicated by Sam with a tap of his fist on the hood, the only limo which was a sedan rather than a SUV. Sam stood outside speaking in quiet tones with his driver and guard and, by the time he joined Dean, Dean had maneuvered himself to the furthermost part of the seat. Staring out the dark tinted window, he tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible while watching two of the vehicles, empty of occupants other than a chauffeur, drive off.

"Decoys," Sam said by way of explanation. "Lord knows I love the attention that comes with the press, but sometimes it can be tiring. They tend to get too fanatic and invasive for comfort."

Being as knowledgeable about _all things Jonathan Samuel Winchester_ as he was, right down to Sam's height of six-four and the exact time Sam had made his grand, squalling entrance to the world twenty-seven years ago, Dean was well aware of Sam's penchant for keeping the identity of his lodgings a secret from the media. Sam always made it a point to stay at a separate location than his less privacy inclined bandmates. Even equipped with that knowledge, it was still strange for Dean to actually hear Sam express his desire for some quietness. Because Dean had always thought of Sam as Sam, the celebrity lead singer of Deviant Spawn.

And not as Sam, the human who possessed the same basic needs as any other person.

Since Sam didn't seem to require a response to his comment, Dean hoped it might be a sign of how their ride would progress. Maybe, just maybe, Sam would prove merciful and ignore Dean. Wouldn't try to force him into a conversation which was bound to make absolutely no sense at all on Dean's side.

Would let Dean bask silently in his presence.

The limo pulled out of the alley, opposite of the exit used by the decoys, and merged into traffic. And Sam shifted his long form down the stretch of seat until he sat in its bend, right next to Dean. His legs were splayed wide open, the left one brushing against the outside of Dean's right.

Breaths coming in erratic intervals, Dean thwarted the hysterical giggle which threatened to burst free from his throat. Sam's nearness played serious havoc with his senses, eliciting responses which were at complete opposite ends of the spectrum. Earlier, Dean hadn't been able to breathe at all. Now, he breathed much too fast.

A long silence ensued, neither Dean nor Sam speaking. Dean, because he couldn't. Sam, because, human or not, Sam was still a megastar and didn't have to if he didn't want to.

But it was Sam who shattered the quietness. About ten minutes into the winding journey, he leaned forward, opened the limo's bar and retrieved a bottle of Patron along with a glass. "Drink?"

"No," Dean answered. He needed to keep a close tab on what was left of his scattered wits. Alcohol, strong alcohol at that, would not help.

He watched Sam twist the cap off and pour himself a good sized serving. Watched Sam raise the tumbler to his lips. Watched the pull of Sam's long throat as he took a swallow.

Imagined watching the pull of that throat, home to a powerful set of vocal cords, as Sam swallowed him.

Dean lunged for the open bottle Sam still held. He sucked down burning mouthful after burning mouthful.

"Careful," Sam cautioned, removing the rim from Dean's lips, then coaxing the bottle loose from his hand. He screwed on the cap and replaced the Patron back inside the bar. "You're not old enough to be drinking, much less taking it to the head like that."

"I'm done." Dean relaxed as the flames spread through his body in a wave of heady warmth. "Just, uh, needed to calm my nerves a little."

"You drained half the bottle. You didn't calm your nerves, you drowned them."

"Couldn't help myself," Dean blurted. “You make me nervous.”

"I do, do I?" Sam's raspy tone indicated his satisfaction with the confession. "I make you nervous. You make me want you. Even exchange if you ask me."

"I make you...you make me...I want you, I mean, you want me...oh, crap."

The limo stopped moving while Dean annihilated the language he'd fluently spoken for his entire life. When Colossus, who'd ridden up front with the driver, opened the vehicle's door, Dean lurched out of his seat and crawled over Sam to make his departure.

Only to find that they hadn't returned to the concert hall. Not even close. The limo had brought them to an extravagant, expensive hotel.

Sam's hotel.

If Sam was revealing the location of his hotel to Dean, then was he... _surely_ he wasn't expecting Dean to stay the night with him.

Or was he?

Worried his poor brain cells would be obsolete come morning, Dean turned a pleading glance to the chauffeur who stood in the open juncture of the driver's door. "There's been a mistake. You were supposed to—"

"Rosenbaum, I'll give you a call if I need you again this evening," Sam dismissed the driver as he exited the limo behind Dean. He pressed close to Dean's back, his next words a provocative whisper on the heated skin of Dean's neck. "What kind of Good Samaritan would I be if I let you drive home knowing the amount of alcohol you've consumed tonight? Before you go anywhere, you're going to sober yourself up in my room first."

"But I am sober," Dean protested as Sam stepped around him, treating Dean to a second view of his delicious, retreating backside. Dean forced his attention back to the driver. "I'm not drunk, Rosenbaum. I'm sober, I swear."

Rosenbaum just shrugged his shoulders. Then retook up his position behind the limo's wheel, shut his door and took off out of the hotel's parking lot. Clearly the man wasn't willing to risk his job to provide any kind of assistance.

Dean heard the screech of tires taking a corner too fast. Watched the taillights disappear around that same corner.

Clearly.

Dean focused his narrowed eyed attention on the guard. "Hey, Rasputin, I'm gonna need for you to get that driver back over here. Pronto. Because I am not drunk. Do you hear me? I am _not_ drunk. Not even a little bit." 

"Stop fighting," Sam tossed over his shoulder. He stopped walking and turned back to face Dean, but Dean refused to look at him. "I have witnesses willing to corroborate that you've drunk way too much tonight. Isn't that right, Clif?"

"Saw him down half that bottle at the club with my own two eyes," Clif rumbled.

"You're a lie!" Dean shouted. Oblivious to the pain, he jammed one finger into the center of Clif's massive chest. "It was in that damn limousine I downed half the bottle, not the club. And just in case no one has ever told you before, lying is very un-Colossus like, Colossus!"

Clif grinned at Sam over Dean's head, infuriating Dean even further. But Dean dropped his arm to his side in defeat when Clif said, "Just heard his confession with my own two ears, too."

"So, you see, lovely," Sam explained with too much good-naturedness, "I'm sure you'll agree that in all good faith I just can't let you leave right now. Underage drinking. Over indulgence. No, there's no way I can let you go just yet."

"You do realize this is one step above extortion?" Dean mumbled.

"What can I say? If there's one thing I can promise, it's that I want what I want and I _always_ get what I want. Call it a specialty of mine."

Dean just bet it was.

Despite Sam's admittance to the dubious use of coercion, Dean trailed after him through the revolving glass door with Clif trailing after Dean. If Dean was being honest with himself, being blackmailed by Sam wasn't an unappealing idea.

But could Dean really, truly allow himself to play the oft disparaged groupie to Sam's celebrity? And still respect himself come the next morning?

A skip entered Dean's step as the answer bounded around his head, equally shocking in its intensity as it was in its accuracy: Hell fucking yeah he could, to the first question!

Not so much, to the second, but that was okay. Dean hungered for more from Sam, which just was not a feasible expectation for him to hold the world renowned rock star to. And, in order to get just a little taste of Sam, Dean was going to have to swallow some of his self-respect.

Besides, Dean didn't really want to live out his life in the public eye, anyway. Not even if it was with Sam, the man he felt like he knew better than himself as a result of carefully listening to and deciphering each and every word of each and every Deviant Spawn song.

Okay, so maybe he was lying to himself. He would _love_ to live his life at Sam's side. But it was a farfetched dream that wasn't going to happen. So it was best for Dean to just put it from his mind.

He would make himself be satisfied with this single encounter with Sam in the privacy of Sam's room at this hotel unknown by the paparazzi. At least no one who knew him would know what Dean had done. No one, that is, except Jensen because Dean would spill all the details of his one night stand with a legend to his best friend.

But only after first getting the details of Jensen's night with Jared. Dean was fairly certain Jensen was, or very soon would be, in a similar state of affairs with the charismatic, openly gay guitarist. That was considering, of course, Jared discovered a way to silence the chatterbox, which Dean was sure he would.

It probably wouldn’t take very long at all for Jared to reach the conclusion that the insertion of Jared’s long cylindrical organ into Jensen's open _O_ mouth was an effective way to keep Jensen's mouth too busy to talk.

That meant Dean's biggest concern, his most immediate concern, was how he was going to come away from his own experience still in possession of the ability to think and reason.

"Hey, Sam,” Clif said, “I think the kid must've decided spending more time with you must not be such a bad idea after all. You should see him from this angle. Little dude got more bounce in his ass than that crazy flexible Jamaican stripper Christian fucks with."

"I can only hope he's as limber as she is. Guess I better provide the pole if I want to find out. It for damn sure won't be a stripper pole, though."

Dean killed the skip. "Hello, here, _right_ here. You do both realize that I can actually hear you?"

"Oh, I know," Sam said.

"Go to hell, Jonathan."

Clif snickered. "Damn, he hit you with the government."

"And you guide him there, Colossus."


	3. Chapter 3

Anxious, agitated, excited, Dean stood on one side of the elevator, facing the doors. Sam stood on the other side, leaned back against a side wall and with his arms folded across his chest, facing Dean. Even though Dean stared straight ahead, he could still _feel_ Sam's eyes on him. Sam had been staring at him since Clif had gotten off four floors below.

"Have you ever bottomed before? Have you ever let some man stick his dick so far up that sweet ass of yours that when it exploded come from your exquisite tightness, you could taste it?"

" _What_ kind of questions are those?" Startled, Dean's eyes flew to meet Sam's. He instantly regretted his action as he felt like he was drowning in the colorful, overpowering depths.

"The kinds which get your attention apparently," Sam said. He smiled. "I do believe you're seeing me for the first time this evening."

"What are you talking about? I've been looking at you all night long, starting with that kick ass performance of yours."

"Exactly, you just proved my point beautifully. You've been _looking_ at me. You've looked at my lips, my chest, my hair, my ass."

"I didn't look at your ass," Dean protested weakly.

" _His jade green eyes lay me bare. He sees into my soul even when I refuse access there. He sees all of me like no one ever has before. And that's the secret behind his undeniable allure,_ " Sam softly sang the hook to _Him_. "Don't get me wrong, lovely, I love knowing I'm the source of your viewing pleasure, _especially_ considering that you're the source of mine. But ever since we entered the limo I've been waiting for you to stop looking at me and to finally see me. And now you do."

As Dean listened to Sam, he tried to tear his eyes away over and over only to find that he couldn't. The visual connection was too extreme, but it was as if Sam somehow commanded Dean maintain it and there was nothing Dean could do except comply.

"So now that I, as you put it, _see_ you, what is the significance?" Dean whispered.

"The significance is that now I can give you a proper apology." Sam crossed the small distance separating them. He grabbed Dean's chin between thumb and forefinger, tilted Dean's face upwards. He stared down into Dean’s eyes. "Few people know this, but I'm the reason Deviant Spawn doesn't interview directly after a performance. All hyped up on the adrenaline rushing through my veins, I've been told I can be a bit...much. Factor in a person who's not only astoundingly attractive, but also ultra-sexy into the equation and, well, you experienced the results yourself."

 _Sam thought he was astoundingly attractive and ultra-sexy_?

"Very," Sam assured.

Embarrassed he'd spoken his thoughts aloud, Dean said, "O-okay, so you're sorry for earlier. But w-w-what's the difference, really, between what you did then and what you're doing now?"

"Other than the fact that there aren't any onlookers to spoil my fun? Absolutely nothing." Sam dropped a soft, lingering kiss to Dean's lips.

The elevator stopped moving. The doors slid open. Sam broke the contact. And exited.

And a shaken Dean was left standing behind barely holding all the pieces of himself together. Until Sam called from somewhere around the corner, "Better get your ass over here. Unless you _want_ me to come back in there and finish what I started...?"

Dean hustled out the elevator and to the door standing open to Sam's Presidential Suite. The man was nowhere in sight, but a light shining from what Dean concluded was the bedroom at the far end of the huge living area served as a pretty good indicator of his location.

"Make yourself comfortable," Sam called, still out of sight. "Just gonna touch bases with JT and Christian real quick, then I'm all yours."

After pulling the entrance to the suite shut behind him, Dean made his way to a loveseat where he perched nervously on the edge. The low tones of Sam's conversation drifted to him, though he couldn't make out the specifics of what was being said. Nevertheless, Dean loved Sam's voice and enjoyed listening to the smooth cadence of his musical inflection. He let the harmony of it soothe him.

Seconds after Sam stopped speaking, Dean's own phone buzzed. He extracted his cell from his pocket to see he had a new text.

_From: Klarion_

_Jared says that Sam says to let u know i'm ok. I'm ok! More than ok. Better than ok. Will talk tom. Want deets. All deets. Detailed deets. I'll have deets!_

Dean laughed that, as usual, Jensen's distinct personality managed to come through in a text message less than a grand total of fifty characters in all. He honestly didn't know what he would do without Jensen. They had been through so much together, had been each other's support systems through the horrific experience that was high school for an uncloseted homosexual male and for the other issues related to Jensen’s appalling home life. The guy was so much more than just a friend to Dean. He held the title of being Dean's first and only lover, he was Dean's closest confidant, he was Dean's brother from another mother, he was—

"What's up with all the comic book references?" Sam asked from right behind Dean. "First Clif with Colossus and Rasputin. Now your friend with Klarion."

"Fuck!" Dean hollered, taken by surprise. He leaped to his feet and swung around to face Sam.

Who regarded him in amusement with both eyebrows lifted. "Relax."

"I...I just...you were...you...I...hell, never mind." Dean gave up on his explanation and returned his phone to his pocket. He sank back down to the loveseat. There was no way possible he could ever let Sam know that his uneasiness was simply due to the fact that Sam was _Sam_. According to the entertainment news outlets, Sam had casually dated, and fucked, some of the world's hottest stars and starlets. Even if Sam did think Dean was attractive and sexy, Dean didn't compare to Sam's previous lovers with his unsophistication and unrefinement. And Dean's shortcomings would soon become apparent to more than just himself if he didn't pull it together. "My, um, dad."

"Your, um, dad what?" A barefoot Sam came from in back of the loveseat, crossed in front of Dean and cocked a hip against the loveseat's arm farthest away.

Focusing his attention on an expensive vase mounted on the ledge above the unlit fireplace, Dean explained, "He's the one who got me involved in comics. He loved the escape they provided to him when he was a little boy, so he automatically assumed his only son would, too."

"That's interesting. You really don't seem like the comic book sort."

"I love them and collected every single issue I could get my hands on growing up. They fascinated me." A heated blush raced up Dean's neck. "But you're right, somewhat. My fascination was not of the same nature as other boys my age. Other boys outside of Jensen, that is."

"This sounds like it's going to be good. Care to share why comic books fascinated you two so much?" Sam prodded.

Dean ducked his head. He stared at the carpet which was a tan a few shades lighter than his pants. "I mean, just look at Wolverine, Cyclops, Thor and Gambit, just to name a few. And, I know he's inherently evil and all that, but even The Darkness ranks up there in hotness."

The lilting timbre of Sam's laughter resonated through the room. "Fuck me, how did I know I was going to just love your reasons?"

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you're thrilled. Because my dad wasn't when he found out his son had a greater love of comics than he did, but for an altogether different reason. Much later he eventually came to accept it—came to accept me—but his reason why is a story all its own."

"I'll tell you what," Sam said. "I want to hear this reason because I somehow suspect it's even funnier than the motive behind your fascination. So, how 'bout you share the reason with me and I'll share something with you about Deviant Spawn that no one else knows."

 _Something no one else knew about Deviant Spawn_?

Dean didn't think twice before announcing, "He came home early from work one day to discover that while my mother was out attending a PTA meeting, I had destroyed several of her very expensive, very high thread count white sheet sets. And to discover I was dressed in my homemade Emma Frost costume."

"The White Queen?"

"The very same." The way Sam kept the conversation flowing relaxed Dean. He stopped the nervous bounce of his leg he hadn't even realized he'd been bouncing. "And my outfit was a damn good rendition, if I do say so myself."

"I bet it was, lovely. And I bet that was a most interesting way for your father to discover—"

"That's not the worst of it," Dean interrupted.

"It's not?" There was a huge smile in Sam's voice.

"He came home to discover that I was dressed like Emma Frost. And that Jensen was dressed like Wolverine. The battle ground was my bed."

"Well, shit," Sam said. "Just...shit."

Surprised at Sam's sudden seriousness, Dean risked a glance at him. Only to discover Sam staring at him again. Just like he had been in the elevator.

"Either I seriously misjudged you and Jensen as both being bottoms, and need to warn JT before he gets the shock of his life, or you just described the most erotic image ever."

"Jensen's a bottom," Dean admitted. "Like me."

"Two cute twinks. Both fighting to get beneath the other one." Sam squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed his cock. "That's, hands down, got to be the hottest picture I've had drawn for me in a long ass time. How do you guys work out who tops and who bottoms?"

Dean's eyes fastened onto Sam's gently massaging hand. "We, uh, make a game of it. Whoever gets their clothes off first, and makes it to the bed first, bottoms."

"Who wins?"

"Me, usually."

"I can see that. While by no means does Jensen strike me as a top, you absolutely do not belong there." Dean's gaze rose to discover Sam's eyes were open again. They were filled with a burning desire. "Care to play your game with me? I can guarantee that you’ll win."

"Oh, God." Dean scrambled off the loveseat and flew to the other side of the room. Pacing back and forth in front of the wall mounted flat screen, he looked anywhere but at Sam. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. Before things went any further, and lord knew he was going to let it go further, he needed Sam to understand something. "I know what me being here looks like."

"And what would that be?"

"I know it looks like I'm a groupie, but I'm not."

"Has anything I've said or done tonight indicated that I think you're a groupie?"

"You—"

"You are here because I didn't leave you with much of a choice. And just for the record, I’ve never had to give groupies a choice. They came willingly. Or not at all. From the moment I laid eyes on you, though, I knew you weren't a groupie and I also knew if I didn't take the necessary actions to make absolute sure that you ended up here with me right now, I would've found the consequences unacceptable. You would've left that dressing room happy as a pig in shit over our meeting, but with no plans to ever see me again. Am I right, so far?"

"Yes, but—"

"I also know who you are. And I would never make such a disrespectful assumption about the family member of someone I consider a friend."

Dean stopped his pacing to stare at Sam. "You know I’m Genevieve’s cousin?"

"There’s a very slight family resemblance." With a smirk, Sam added, "But you’re way more of a girl than she could ever hope to be."

"Ha, ha, ha, very funny," Dean replied, smiling despite himself. Sam's observation didn't offend him...Genevieve had made the same observation herself often enough.

Plus, it was true. Genevieve was a lesbian. A _stud_ lesbian.

"Gen ever tell you how we met, lovely?"

"Bits and pieces, here and there."

"Listen close, I'm going to give you the whole of it. We met about four years ago after a concert in Tallahassee. The goddamn manager of Deviant Spawn at the time had arranged a solo interview for Gen. He'd assumed it would be safe to do so since it was obvious to him that Gen wouldn't be interested in me and that I, in turn, wouldn't be interested in her. But when he introduced us, I instantly knew that I wanted her."

This story had a predictable ending. "And then you discovered that God had cursed you with the wrong set of sexual organs."

"That's not quite the way it happened," Sam said. "As much of a pussy hound as your cousin is, I think I could've had her if I'd pressed the issue."

Suppressing a snarky comment, Dean asked, "Then what stopped you?"

"Simply put, _you_. Gen put the brakes to anything that could've happened between us which would amount to more than a friendly conversation. She told me all about how her baby cousin was my _biggest fan ever_ and how he would never forgive her for such a betrayal."

Genevieve had been right. Dean wouldn't have forgiven her. "I never knew that. Wow."

"Wow, my ass, kid. I hated you. With a passion. There I was, with this interested, gorgeous female in front of me that I wanted to do nothing more than bend over the table separating us and fuck into oblivion, but all she wanted to do was talk about _you_. Then, to add insult to injury, she went and showed me a photo of you in her phone that she had just taken the day before."

"Are you for real?"

"Yep. And just like your scheming cousin knew I would be, I was hooked. I demanded to see every picture she had of you stored in her phone. I made her forward each one of them to my phone. And I provided her with all of my direct contact information with directions that she send me regular updates on you."

"You _cannot_ be serious," Dean said, incredulous.

Sam had just admitted to having known who Dean was for years. Years!

"Oh, but I am. Your full name is Dean Michael Smith. You were born January twenty-fourth, nineteen ninety-one, at Arnold Palmer Medical Center. Your mom stayed at home with you and your younger sister while your dad worked as a mechanic. Your father and Gen's are brothers. You're currently researching universities throughout the country to find which ones have the best fashion design programs. Jensen Ackles has been your best friend since the second grade. I've digitally watched Jensen change styles from grunge to preppy to the gothic style he's currently captivated by while you've refined your looks using the lovely style that works for you so beautifully."

"Wait." Dean waved a hand to stop Sam. His whirling mind was close to short circuiting. " _How_ do you know all of that?"

"You've been my drug of choice for years. And Gen, good little dealer that she is, has kept me very well stocked. When I said I demanded she send me regular updates, I meant through all means and in everything."

"But I'm not your type." Dean pointed his finger at Sam. "You...you haven't been seen with any guys as feminine as me for _years_."

"Want to know why?" Sam asked, pushing off the loveseat's arm. "Because all others pale in comparison to you. After I laid eyes on that very first picture of you, I knew they were nothing more than a bad imitation of the real thing that was waiting for me here in Orlando. But, up until quite recently, you were underage and I was out of the country, so—" Sam lifted one shoulder in a shrug "—I had to distract myself somehow while I waited. I hooked up with men and women I knew didn't run a chance of reminding me of you, didn't run a chance of reminding me of the forbidden. Only to discover time and again that _every single one of them_ was inferior to just the _thought_ of you."

"You make it sound like you've been planning this meeting between us for years," Dean whispered.

"I have." Holding his hand out to Dean, palm up, Sam said, "So please don't make me wait one moment longer."

Posed so eloquently, there was no way Dean could refuse Sam's request. He crossed the room and took the outstretched hand.


	4. Chapter 4

They were in the bedroom, Sam's face lowered to Dean's. Dean opened up when Sam licked the seal of his lips and Sam immediately licked into his mouth.

Dean's arms tangled around Sam's neck while Sam's arms looped around his waist offering support. Careful not to break their connection, Sam walked Dean backwards until Dean's rear hit the edge of the large bed situated on a raised dais in a corner of the room. Sam pulled back from the kiss, then bent down to sweep Dean's legs off the floor. He tossed Dean onto the center of the huge mattress.

An attempt to push up on his elbows resulted in Dean meeting the resistant force of Sam's hand planted in the center of his chest. "Lie back."

"Want you," Dean panted even as he did as Sam ordered.

"And you're going to have me. All of me. For a lifetime."

Despite the mind numbing lust crowding his head, the force of Sam's words punctured Dean's haze. Pretty words spoken in a pretty moment?

From the solemn expression gracing Sam's face, Dean didn't think that was the case. So, that begged the question of whether Sam spoke of starting some type of permanent, ongoing thing with Dean.

And if being Sam's fucktoy was something Dean could settle for.

Still standing, Sam unzipped then removed Dean's boots. Next, he slid Dean’s socks off his feet. Strong hands massaged the arch of Dean's right foot and Dean shivered when Sam pressed warm lips to the skin there.

"Sensitive?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Dean hissed through clenched teeth.

Sam’s hands locked firmly around Dean's ankles. "So that makes me wonder what will happen if I do this?"

Dean's back shot off the bed as his big toe was engulfed in the moist heat of Sam's mouth. Sam licked and sucked at Dean's toe, swirling his tongue around it before moving on to the one next to it. He paid equal attention to all five digits while Dean twisted his fists in the thick comforter to prevent himself from tangling them in Sam's hair.

When Sam started in on Dean's left foot, Dean tried to kick in an effort to break loose of Sam's unrelenting hold. Conceding that his struggles were futile, Dean finally stooped to begging, "Stop, Sam, you have to stop! Or I'm going to come!"

With a chuckle, Sam freed Dean's toe from his mouth and his ankles from constraint. "Well, now, can't have you doing _that_ prematurely. That would ruin my plan."

"What plan?" Dean managed to choke between heaving breaths as he collapsed onto his back.

"Patience. You’ll see." Sam eased onto the bed. Knees bent under him, he settled to the right of Dean. The long, elegant fingers Dean had admired earlier in the evening were at the fly of Dean's pants, deftly unfastening. "But I will be filing away that hot ass reaction for future use."

Definitely speaking of an ongoing liaison.

But Dean _couldn't_ settle for just being Sam's fucktoy. He would much rather allow himself this one night with Sam...and nothing more.

Dean lifted his hips in assistance when Sam started to inch his pants down. As it was revealed, Sam pressed tender kisses to Dean’s skin.

"Hmmm, shaved. Everywhere. I like it. So smooth." Sam shifted himself from his kneeling position beside Dean to a kneeling position between Dean's parted thighs. "Get rid of the sweater. I want to see all of you."

Dean sat up long enough to do as told. The only piece of clothing he now wore was the sheer, black thong confining his erection. A still fully clothed Sam leaned down and nuzzled his face back and forth along the straining length.

Knowing he was close to reaching the level of _coherent thought prohibited beyond this point_ , Dean questioned, "Sam?"

“Must be _waaay_ past time to kick shit into high gear since you're still lucid enough to say my name rather than moan it."

Sam's hot breath on his groin nearly caused Dean to come undone. Before it was too late, Dean rushed forward with what he needed to say, "I don't want to be your on-call fuck buddy."

"Good thing, then, that that's not what I'm asking of you." Sam caught the band of Dean's thong between his teeth and tugged until only the very tip of Dean's cock was freed. He let go of the band so it trapped the exposed head against the lower part of Dean's belly. "I'm asking you for forever."

"As your fuck buddy."

"As my boyfriend."

"I can't be your—"

"Then as my husband."

"—boyfriend," Dean finished. "I can't be your boyfriend or your husband, Sam."

What the _hell_ was he saying? Yes, he so wanted to be Sam's boyfriend. Or husband. Either one would do, he didn't have a preference. He wasn't all that picky.

"Why?" Sam's question was posed around the tip of Dean's cock. "You are truly lovely. Did you know that? Smaller than most, but the perfect size for your petite stature. And you taste good. Sweet."

Hips pushing upwards in search of more of the wet contact, Dean steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. "I j-j-just...can't."

As soon as that last word left his mouth, Dean decided when he returned home he was going to cut his tongue out. Because for some unfathomable reason it just wouldn't stop spewing nasty, dirty, hateful...sensibleness.

With a sucking pop, Sam released Dean's erection. "Gotta give me something better than that to work with."

"For fuck's sake, Sam, you're a fucking celebrity. How's that for a reason?" A celebrity with an international fan base which numbered in the millions. Deviant Spawn devotees were comprised of the young, the middle aged, the old, the ugly, the average, the beautiful and, well, the even more beautiful.

Hell, Sam's bisexuality would mean that any person he tied himself to would be faced with twice the competition for his affection. Both men and women were at Sam's beck and call, ready and willing to do anything he demanded.

Ready and willing to sabotage any relationship Sam was involved in for a chance to start a relationship of their own with him.

"It sucks ass as a reason. Because right now, right at this very moment? I'm _not_ a celebrity. Right now, I'm just a man trying to please his boyfriend."

"I'm not your boyfriend."

_Dean was going to skewer his tongue._

"Right. Forgot. I meant future husband." Sam drug a finger up Dean's side. The touch was whisper light until he reached one of Dean's nipples. He grabbed the bud and gave it a playful twist. "But I demand you immediately make an honest man out of me. I'll expect, of course, a platinum band—plain, please—a huge wedding and a month long honeymoon to Curacao."

Dean slapped Sam's hand away. "Jesus, will you be serious!"

_Dean was going to set it on fire._

"See, that's the thing, lovely. I _am_ being serious."

"Tonight, Sam. Tonight is all I'm willing to give you. Tomorrow you go back to your world and I'll stay in mine."

_Dean was going to watch it burn to a crisp._

"Not possible," Sam replied as he sat back and stared down at Dean. "The paparazzi? The reporters? The gossip rags? They will all link you to me. You're a part of my world already, whether you want to be or not. You just have to make up your mind whether you _want_ to be known as my groupie or if you _want_ to be known as something more. Because what I'm offering is something more. But you sound real determined to make yourself happy being nothing more than my groupie."

"Not buying the bullshit. I _saw_ the launching of the decoys. I _am_ your biggest fan ever. And I _know_ that only a selected, trusted few know where you are right now and who you're with. And that's the _only_ reason I chose to stay."

_Dean was going to collect the ashes in a plastic sandwich baggie._

"As I said earlier, you weren't given much of a choice."

"Trust me, if I'd thought there was a chance of someone taking incriminating photos of us, I would've found a way to leave."

_Then scatter the remains in the St. Johns River to be forever lost. And his voice box had to go, too, damn it._

"Conflicted little lovely one, aren't you?"

Well, fuck, how had Sam seen straight through his ruse? "No."

"Yes, you are." Sam was quiet for a moment, his face taking on a thoughtful aspect. Then his lips twitched upwards into a grin. "Alright, Dean, we'll do this your way. You're giving me tonight and I'm happily taking it."

Dean maybe would've offered his thanks, maybe would've questioned Sam's easy acceptance or maybe would've taken the necessary time to rethink if the course of action he'd set in motion was truly the one he wanted to follow (because it probably wasn’t). But further thought was impossible. Sam had ripped off Dean's flimsy underwear and wrapped his hand around Dean's erection. Sam stroked him with a pace that had no set, definable rhythm; the strokes altered between being short and long and tight and loose.

A warning tingle originating in Dean's brain raced down his spine where it settled deep into the pit of his stomach. His balls drew up and just as his cock was ready to shoot off, Sam removed his touch.

Dean tried to capture his cock with his own hand so he could finish what Sam had started, but Sam easily kept it away. Dean ground out, "Bastard."

"If my father heard you say that, he would take you to task for the insult."

"Quit fucking with me."

"My, my, my, what a dirty little mouth you have. I think I'll have to clean it later with my special solvent. But for now I need you to be good. I already told you I have plans for your come."

"Then why aren't you ready for it?"

"I will be in just a few moments,” Sam said nonchalantly. “I'll let you know when." 

"No, not in a few fucking moments. Right fucking now." Dean reached for his cock again, hoping and praying to goad Sam into cleaning his mouth with the special solvent sooner rather than later.

But Sam intercepted him a second time. He led Dean's hands to the top button on his shirt. "Since you obviously need something to do with your hands."

Tanned abs were revealed to Dean's greedy eyes as he hurriedly made short work of unbuttoning the closures. When the shirt finally hung open, Sam slid the silk off his shoulders, the effect on Dean as profound as the first time he'd watched Sam shed the piece of material when Sam had been up on stage.

Dean's eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head when Sam went to work on his tight leather pants. Finally, they, too, were gone and Sam's impressive, uncut erection was freed.

Even his dick was tanned. And twice the size of Dean's. It was longer than Jensen's even, but of an equal thickness. And his neatly trimmed nest of wiry pubes was as dark as the hair on the top of his head.

"Now I’m ready." Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's erection again while cupping the other under the head.

Dean came. Hard. In forceful, continuous, energy sapping spurts that shouldn't have been possible considering he and Jensen had hooked up the day prior.

Sam caught it all in his palm. Then he smeared the abundant pearly liquid along the length of his own bare erection before flipping Dean over onto his belly.

"Protection?" Dean panted into the pillow.

"Clean," Sam acknowledged Dean's request. "I haven't been with anyone since before January twenty-fourth of o-nine."

He hadn't been with anyone since Dean's eighteenth birthday. "But what about all the—"

"For show only, Dean. There has been no one in my bed. No one."

Not sure why he believed Sam, but knowing that he did, Dean nodded.

"Thank you. For trusting me." Thrusting in short, steady strokes, Sam worked his slicked tip into Dean's hole.

Thoroughly relaxed from his orgasm, Dean offered no resistance to Sam's breach. Instead, he arched his ass into Sam's rocking and felt Sam's cock pop into him and slide home. The sensation of Sam filling him so completely, followed by the sound of Sam's hips and balls steadily smacking his ass as Sam built up speed, tore a mewl from Dean.

And, fuck, he really had just mewled. Like a little kitten, he had just fucking mewled.

On the next push in, Sam hit Dean's prostate. Dean screamed.

A vague thought skittered through Dean's mind that at least screaming was several steps up from cute, kittenish sounds.

Sam slowed his movements, then stopped moving altogether. He leaned down and Dean felt the tips of Sam’s soft, silky hair brush against his shoulders as Sam's lips skimmed the back of his neck. "You okay?"

All Dean could do was offer a tortured moan in response.

Chuckling, Sam said, "Yeah, you're okay. And that's definitely something else for us to explore a little further later on."

"Sam—"

"Later on tonight." Sam draped himself on top of Dean and resumed his motions again, chest to back, but at an adjusted angle that didn't rub Dean's prostate and at a slower pace. "You are so goddamed tight. Just like I knew you would be. Oh, fuck, I'm not going to—"

A single thrust, then Sam tautened as his cock convulsed and pulsated deep inside of Dean.

"Fuck, yeah," Sam groaned. After catching his breath, he pulled out and readjusted himself so that he was spooned behind Dean.

*

Weak light streaming into the darkened bedroom around the ensuite bathroom's cracked open door teased Dean out of his slumber. The absence of the warm body behind him and the sound of Sam's low murmur drifting over to him from the lit up room clued Dean in as to what was going on. It was the first of the four times that Sam had already woken up that night that he hadn't also woken Dean up to engage in another round of fucking.

Before falling back to sleep, Dean wondered who it was that Sam was on the phone with.

Probably Jared or Christian...

*

Dean didn't know how much later it was when he woke up next, this time to the sensation of an intense, almost painful, pleasure. Sam was again positioned between Dean's thighs. He used one finger to massage Dean's prostate and his sucking mouth drained the semen which shot out of Dean's balls.

He pulled off Dean and licked his lips. "So fucking good."


	5. Chapter 5

Satisfied and satiated, Dean stretched languidly. With a tentative wiggle, he discovered that his ass was sore, but it was sore with the type of pain he considered to be good—because of the even better memories that accompanied it.

Exultant, Dean opened his eyes, ready to drink in his first sight of a bed mused Sam in the daylight. His elation died a quick death when a glance around the bedroom, and a quick foray into all the other rooms of the Presidential Suite, revealed Dean to be all alone.

Sam had left. Hadn't even bothered to wake Dean up to say goodbye despite the fact he'd woken Dean several times during the night to either fuck Dean, suck Dean or feed Dean his special solvent.

Well, this was exactly what Dean had said he wanted, wasn't it? Hadn't he been the one to falsely tell Sam he wanted their time together to be limited to just last night?

Yes, a variation of those words _had_ come straight out of Dean's dishonest mouth. So that meant he had absolutely no right to the sick feelings of being used and betrayed he was currently experiencing. Sam had done nothing more than stick to the specifics of the plan designed and insisted upon by Dean.

Dean grabbed his clothes from the floor and carried them into the bathroom. He tossed his destroyed underwear into a waste basket, then slowly dressed. Studying his fully clothed reflection in the mirror, he silently reassured himself that not only did he still look like the same person he was before he'd participated in a one night stand, but that he _was_ the same person. There was no reason for him to feel dirty. Hell, there were millions of people around the world doing what he'd done...and worse. The fact that there was such a thing as bukkake was proof of that.

Making use of the hotel provided toiletries, Dean brushed his teeth and hair and washed his face, hoping to cleanse off any unseen dirtiness. But all of his efforts failed.

Because the filth he felt was _inside_ of him, not _on_ him.

After his father had discovered the epic battle between Emma Frost and Wolverine in Dean's bedroom that day long ago, he'd set Dean down afterwards and explained to him that no matter Dean's preference in partners, when Dean gave himself to someone sexually, he was giving that person a piece of his soul that could never be returned. In so doing, he'd let Dean know that he accepted Dean for who he was while also cautioning Dean to be careful and to always use common sense.

Carefulness and common sense Dean never felt the need to use with Jensen. Yeah, after that they'd slept with each other, often, but it was more the result of their natural gravitation to one another because of how close they were and their similar interests than any romantic interest. Dean loved Jensen, Jensen loved Dean, but neither was in love with the other.

Carefulness and common sense that had fled last night when Dean had let Sam fuck him.

Sighing, Dean made his way to the suite's entry door. Where he discovered a folded piece of paper taped in the center. A single word was written on the front in a flowing, elegant scrawl: _Dean_.

Fingers shaking, Dean retrieved the letter and smoothed it open.

_Lovely,_

_I think a part of me has loved you since that very first picture of you Gen showed me. There was something just so sweet and alluring about you, that you just wiggled your way right into my heart before I knew what was happening. You made your home there without a word having to be exchanged nor a meeting between us needing to take place. And in my heart is where I have carried you all this time._

_I thank you for last night. It was beautiful and perfect and everything I'd ever dreamed it would be. And more. It also forced me to make some difficult decisions._

_You don't want to be a part of my world. And I understand that, lovely. I do. It is the reason I left without first waking you._

_All I can say is that I hope you will find it inside of you to one day forgive me._

_Sam_

_P.S. – I believe I made two promises to you last night._

_The first was to tell you a secret about Deviant Spawn no one else knows. The secret is our name. Deviant, as you are probably well aware, came about because JT, Christian and I considered ourselves to be deviants when we were younger, still do now. We didn't then, nor will we ever, neatly fit into anyone's mold and we absolutely refuse to conform. Never have. Never will._

_However, the world believes Spawn came about from Christian's mother and her ironic fondness for referring to him as the Spawn of Satan when she first discovered her sweet Catholic boy was a man whore. That's not the truth. Spawn is actually homage to the famous comic book superhero. He's faded in popularity recently, but he's still a favorite of mine. A favorite of Deviant Spawn._

_The second promise I made to you came earlier in the night. I'm sure it's probably slipped your mind by now, lovely. Regardless, I am a man of my word so my promise will be fulfilled._

Dean folded up the letter and shoved it in his pocket. He wondered at the second promise Sam referred to, but stopped for fear of driving himself crazy when no ideas readily presented themselves. For the most part, his feelings of ill will had faded, but a strong sense of melancholy persisted.

The words Sam had written to him were infused with an honest genuineness. The same honest genuineness as the words Sam had spoken during the night.

Had he been too harsh in his dismissal of what could've been between him and Sam? Was it too late for the two of them to discuss it over?

Dean opened the door, then eased out into the hall. He was immediately struck by the sensation of something being off. Maybe it was the giggling teenage girls huddled together a few feet away, though he couldn't imagine why that should bother him.

Other than the fact that the floor he was on contained only one other corridor which led to the door of the only other suite on the floor.

True, Dean hadn't seen anyone entering or exiting the other hall the night before, but somehow the idea that teenagers were the occupants of the second suite just didn't fit with the hotel's swanky image. Unless the teens had the money of Disney and Nickelodeon superstar sweethearts, which Dean guessed these particular two girls didn't.

They looked like fans. Which, due to Sam's standard precautions, was impossible.

Dean ignored the duo and entered the elevator. When he reached the ground level, he stepped out of the car. And right into bedlam.

Bright lights flashed and whirling clicks sounded from every which way as numerous cameras, digital and professional, took Dean's picture. Three to four microphones were thrust into his face. A multitude of questions were called out, one on top of the other.

No, not questions. Just one question. Asked in many different forms. About him and Sam.

"Is it true that you're the secret love of Sam, lead singer of Deviant Spawn?"

"How long have you two known each other?"

"How did you two meet?"

"Where did you meet?"

 _Crap_. Someone had betrayed Sam's trust and spilled the location of his hotel. To hundreds of his fans going by how packed the hotel lobby was.

And, apparently, to the press.

The last time something like this had happened a few years before, Sam had acceded to giving an impromptu interview that Dean had watched on TMZ that night. While Sam had kept his cool while bantering back and forth with reporters and fans, his frigid gaze and the tight press of his lips had made it obvious he was not pleased with the invasion.

Though the group of reporters in front of him was only a small showing, Dean still failed to think of the right answer, or any answer for that matter, to stop their bombardment. He was saved from being forced to speak when the elevator doors behind him opened...and out stepped Sam followed by Clif.

"There you are," Sam said to Dean, smiling bright.

The flashes of light and whirling clicks doubled. The reporters’ shouted questions neared the level of a cacophony. And the screams of diehard fans drowned them all out.

Purely in the sake of self-preservation, it was on the tip of Dean's tongue to ask, "Do I know you?" but then Sam went and fucked up all his chances of denying their acquaintance by adding, loud enough to be heard over the din, "I went back to _our_ suite to collect you, lovely, only to discover that you were gone."

Nope, there'd be no denying. Not now. Not when Dean's photo was likely to end up plastered next to Sam's (with Sam's statement as a highlighted and bolded caption) on the covers of the next issues of every major magazine produced worldwide.

Everyone Dean knew, and a whole lot of people he didn't, would know what he'd done. And who he'd done it with.

Then again, they wouldn't know exactly. They couldn't. They could only assume as Sam had only made an allusion, not an actual statement of fact.

Thinking to flee, Dean took a step away from Sam, angling for an opening he could see between two of the photographers' bulky equipment. Only to have Sam lean down and breathe in his ear, "Not so quick, Dean. You'll want to stay for this. My second promise to you is about to be fulfilled."

Unable to stifle his curiosity, Dean halted. From the corner of his eye, he watched as one of the photographers shifted positions, which resulted in the vanishing of Dean’s potential path to freedom.

Sam straightened, then playfully addressed the reporters, "Who the hell let you assholes loose for Christmas? And who the hell told you where to find _me_?"

After the round of laughter to Sam's unexpected joviality died, the barrage of questions began again. Sam listened to the questions, nodding his head every once in a while, then finally raised his hand in a gesture for silence.

"Okay, consider what I'm about to share with you as this year's Christmas gift from Deviant Spawn. I've gathered that you all seem interested in the same thing: discovering the identity of the man standing here with me today. His name is Clif Kosterman. He's my personal body guard and I hired him about a month or two ago. He's damn good at what he does. Remember that."

"What about the young man to your left?" a man called out, the young, energetic correspondent shoving his mic right into Sam's face.

"Oh, is it the other man's identity that you guys are all wanting to know? I apologize, I honestly thought you were talking about Clif," Sam said, amused. "The other young man with me is Dean Smith. He is the cousin of Orlando's very own Gen Cortese."

A sense of foreboding enveloped Dean as Sam's arm wrapped around his shoulders and hauled him tight against Sam's side.

"He is also my lover. And he's damn good at what he does, too."

Motherfucking statement of facts.

Dean had never fainted in his life, _never_...and he didn't then either. But damn if he didn't stand there wondering what God or Demon he had to pray or tithe to in order for them to strike him senseless.

"Last night Dean and I reached an agreement," Sam continued to Dean's amazed horror.

"Sam, don't!" Dean beseeched.

"Oh, come now, lovely," Sam challenged. He looked down at Dean, capturing his gaze. "All of these individuals here are astute people. They already know the depth of my feelings for you. The whole world knows since I wrote that song about you."

 _Him_. The song Dean had daydreamed and wished had been written about him actually _had_ been written about him.

Lightheaded, Dean broke eye contact in favor of staring at his feet.

"Mr. Smith, how does it make you feel to know that Sam wrote a hit song about you?"

"Mr. Smith! Did you help Sam compose the lyrics?"

"Are you going to star opposite Sam in the video for _Him_?"

Dean opened his mouth. He tried to force words out past the tight constriction of his throat. After several tries, he managed to mutter a croaky, "No comment."

"No comment?" Sam immediately questioned. "Such modesty. You really are adorable. He's adorable, right?" he asked the crowd. "But since he doesn't seem inclined to tell you guys the full story, the job falls to me then. Last night, I decided I'm no longer satisfied with keeping our relationship a secret. So Dean, of course, decided he's no longer satisfied with being just my boyfriend."

A feminine voice asked, "Does this mean the first Deviant Spawn wedding is in the near future?"

A long silence stretched. Then Sam answered with a very clear, very heartfelt, "If he'll have me."

Cursing by name every deity he knew from Christianity to Greek mythology for not helping him out of a tight situation, Dean feigned a faint and hit the ground.

*

"We're gone now, lovely. You can stop playing possum."

"Don't wanna," Dean answered, petulant.

Chuckling, Sam ruffled Dean's hair. They were riding in the back of the same limousine from the night before, on their way to pick up Jared, Jensen and Christian, plus two, for a late breakfast.

The entire situation mirrored the previous night with the trustworthy Rosenbaum chauffeuring, Clif keeping him company and Sam sitting in the bend of the limo's seat. The only difference was Dean, who wasn't crowded into the furthermost part of the seat this time. Instead, Dean's prostrate form was stretched along the long part of the seat where Clif had laid him. And his head was buried in Sam's lap.

"Quit sulking," Sam chastised.

"I'm not sulking."

"You are. You've been sulking ever since Clif carried your supposed unconscious form out of the lobby."

"Can you blame me, Sam? I mean, really, it was just ten minutes ago that you entirely destroyed my world as I know it," Dean griped, sitting up. "Oh my God, was it really just ten short minutes ago that you fucked me up the ass and right into this insane, crazy situation?"

"Actually, as I recall, most of the fucking took place throughout the night and well into the early morning."

Dean shot Sam a look full of venom. "This is going to be all over the news by tonight. It probably _is_ already all over the internet."

"It is," Sam confirmed, expression smug. "We made it to Yahoo's main page. In fact, we're number one on Trending Now." He lifted his hips slightly from the seat in order to obtain his cell from his back pocket. He jabbed the screen, then pushed the phone right up underneath Dean's nose and said, "See for yourself."

"Fuck," Dean groaned, staring at the photo.

A rumpled, embarrassed Dean stared at the ground, longish brown hair mostly shielding his thin, pale features from view. Sam's arm was slung around his shoulders and the grin on Sam's face could be described as nothing less than predatory as he stared at the top of Dean's head. In stark contrast to Dean's stiffness, Sam appeared every bit of the famous rock star that he was with his laid back stance, perfect tan, loose, flowing hair and outfit of all black. And an impassive Clif hovered protectively over the two obvious lovers. The blurb under the picture read, "Famed musician Sam of Deviant Spawn confirms on Christmas morning the identity of the inspiration behind _Him_...along with his plans to soon wed his _male_ lover."

"How much you wanna bet we've made it to Facebook, too?" Sam asked.

Dean launched himself at Sam. He wrenched the phone from Sam's hand, then slung it across the limo. He punched Sam’s chest over and over again with balled up fists. " _Everyone_ I know is going to know where I was last night and what I was doing! Everyone! My mom! My dad! My brother!"

"I still don’t see the problem yet." Sam attempted unsuccessfully to corral Desn’s flailing limbs. "And you don't have a bro—"

"The problem, Sam, is that Gen's going to know!" At the thought of his cousin, Dean stopped his abuse. He covered his face with both of his hands and spoke into his palms, "Oh, no, the mouth of the south with a live microphone and a rapt audience is going to know."

"And?" Sam peeled away Dean's hands, holding them in his own. "We're engaged and we only did what engaged couples do."

"I didn't agree to that marriage proposal."

"You didn't turn it down, either."

"You conniving dick," Dean hissed without rancor. His anger had dissipated. It was hard to hold onto it when Dean wasn't truly angry. Not really.

Annoyed over having Sam screw with his life? Yes. Livid? No.

How _could_ he be angry...when he was so ecstatic?

To Sam's credit, he had the good sense to adopt a semi contrite expression. A clearly _false_ semi contrite expression, but it was better than nothing. "As I said in my letter, I am truly regretful things had to play out this way."

" _That's_ what the apology was for? Oh, you've got to be kidding me. And silly me here thought you were apologizing because you'd slipped away without telling me."

"I slipped away without telling you because I kinda suspected you'd take issue with my heavy handed actions." Still holding Dean's hands, Sam pulled Dean onto his lap, adjusting Dean until he comfortably straddled Sam. "I know I would’ve."

"You are such an asshole. No, what was it Jared called you last night? A slick ass bastard. That's _exactly_ what you are."

"You heard that, huh? Guess there's no point in denying the title one of my own best friends has bestowed on me. So I'll admit to it. I am undeniably a slick ass bastard. And an asshole. And a conniving dick, too. But, in my defense, I did swear to you last night that I want what I want and that I _always_ get what I want."

"The fucking forgotten promise," Dean bitched in a whisper.

Sam yanked him closer, nuzzling his face against Dean's throat. "I want you in my life, lovely. And since you were insistent on denying me what I wanted, I had to take matters into my own hands and make it so that you couldn't deny me quite so easily. At least not without coming off as ruthless and heartless in the process."

"Jesus, you were the one who leaked the hotel's name and location, weren't you? That's why you were on the phone in the middle of the night! It was you!" Dean exclaimed, arching into the light nips Sam placed along his neck.

"Forgive me?"

"Hell. No. I should walk, no, make that _run_ away from you. Fast as I can."

The low growl which erupted from Sam's throat made Dean pull back. "Dean—"

"Shut the fuck up, Sam. I _can't_ walk, run, skip, bounce, fly, roll, skate or anything else away from you. You made absolute sure of that. The reporters would bulldoze my parents' house trying to get at me. I can hear it now, Dean the Gory Heartbreaker of Sam the Deviant Saint. Plus," Dean added quietly, staring into Sam's eyes, "I don't want to leave you."

"Good." Sam stroked a finger down Dean's cheek. Dean leaned into the touch. "Because I'm not going to let you."

"But you're not forgiven," Dean said, determined to make Sam pay for his highhandedness. But not too much. After all, if Sam hadn't done what he had, then a good chance existed that, no matter how much Dean may have wanted it, they would never have gotten together.

Dean's firmly-rooted-in-reality subconsciousness wouldn't have allowed it. It would never have allowed him to contact Gen to request she contact Sam on his behalf.

Both of Sam's hands strayed to the waist of Dean's pants. With a few slight movements, he sprung Dean's erection free. "Just tell me how to make it up to you."

"We're spending Christmas with my family today. And _you_ get the pleasure of explaining to them why I'm suddenly an overnight sensation."

"To your non-existent brother, too, huh?"

" _Especially_ to my non-existent brother. But, be warned, he's going to kick your ass if you don't treat me right."

"Then I have nothing to fear."

"Except Gen. Because you also get the pleasure of making sure she keeps her trap shut. Else she'll blab to all of Orlando the truth about how we hooked up...and how she's the responsible cupid."

"Awww, fuck, can't you think of anything else you want other than me trying to hush Gen?" Sam asked with a pained groan.

"Yes, I can. And I have. And you'll give me those wants, too, in addition to this one. I don't want it known that, for all intents and purposes, we started as a one night stand."

"If it's truly that important to you..."

"It is."

"Then consider it done. What else?"

"You can keep that plain platinum band for yourself. I want an eighteen karat white gold ring with a diamond which weighs no less than two carats. And I'm not going to no damn Curacao. I want to go to Italy."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah," Dean said, gasping as Sam stroked him slowly with one hand. "I want monogamy. And your heart."

Wrapping his other hand in Dean's hair, Sam pulled Dean down until his lips skimmed Dean's ear. "You're asking for the one thing I can't give, kid."

"No monogamy? No deal. No love? No can do."

"Monogamy's not the problem. As a matter of fact, since you haven't yet enrolled in any universities or colleges, you'll be coming along with me on the next leg of Deviant Spawn's tour so you can monitor what I do, and who I do it with, personally."

"And your heart?"

"There lies the problem. Can't give that to you."

"Why?" Dean asked, though he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear Sam say it.

"You know why. My heart isn't mines to give. It already belongs to you. Has for years."

Dean shuddered on hearing the profession. "You've always had mine."

"Glad to hear it. Now, can we revisit this monogamy idea for just a quick second? I'm all for it, but just keep in mind anytime you and Jensen decide you want to—ow!" Sam grimaced, relinquishing his hold on Dean's hair, but not his cock, so he could rub his shoulder that had just been thumped with a two handed fist. "Damn, I was just playing. Shit, I thought it was Jared's jealous ass I would have to worry about beating me down if I tried to enact my twink fantasy with you and that friend of yours he's so enthralled with, but now I see it's _you_ that I'm going to have to watch out for."

"There can only be me, Sam."

"There was only ever you, Dean," Sam said, serious. He lowered Dean to the seat and freed his own stiff cock from the constraint of his tight leather pants. "Now stop talking. It's time for us exchange our very first Christmas gifts with each other."


End file.
